


what do you mean you dont have a fursona

by mrmime



Category: Guidestuck, Homestuck
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, Gen, Neurodiversity, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrmime/pseuds/mrmime
Summary: "The fuck kind of question is that?" Brows furrowed, Bec grits the question out in the best snarl he can manage. For a second, he almost thinks he did a pretty fantastic job until Cal crows out one of those heinous laughs of his."A legitimate one!""Are you sure you know the definition of that word? I'll Google it, if you want."





	what do you mean you dont have a fursona

"What do you mean, you don't have a fursona?"

A look knits itself across Bec's face like someone may as well have underhanded a fistful of meal worms right up into it, his head swiveling around so fast Cal jumps, black lips pursing. At _least_ he has the decency to look sheepish as Bec levels the sour look at him, Cal's gloved hands pausing where they've been idly fiddling with a pen and paper spread across his lap - (some people might call it drawing, but Cal is always the first to tell anyone paying witness to his chicken scratch that he doesn't know the first thing about drawing. Scribbling is a more adept term, maybe).

"The fuck kind of question is that?" Brows furrowed, Bec grits the question out in the best snarl he can manage. For a second, he almost thinks he did a pretty fantastic job until Cal crows out one of those heinous laughs of his. 

"A legitimate one!"

"Are you sure you know the definition of that word? I'll Google it, if you want."

"Don't be rude," Cal chirps.

Bec grunts, glowering. It's a light admonishment, all things considered. (Still, it's more than he ever used to challenge Bec with - it's almost like he has a backbone, nowadays.)

The sheepish look and all its catharsis is gone much faster than Bec would've liked, too, as Cal shuffles the paper and assorted art supplies off his thighs and onto the floor, which - it's his floor, he can leave it as messy as he wants. Bec half prays, inwardly, that Cal will step on one of the dozen and a half pens he's strewn about his floor as he stands to then wobble his way around to Bec's front. He doesn't, because he never does. The weirdo's way too used to having toys and assorted crap littered all over his cramped living space. Bec tries not to look let down, and he's not sure he manages.

It isn't until Cal drops into a uncomfortable-looking kneel in front of him that Bec realizes he brought a sheet of paper with him, and it has something scrawled on it - the brief squint that Bec's willing to spare it in his desperation to appear uninterested isn't enough to glean what is is, though.

Cal's got that handled.

"You like dogs the most, right? Like, out of all animals," It's a stupid question, and Cal knows that, so Bec doesn't bother answering with anything beyond a textbook scowl. He's not about to let Chewtoy here think he's _curious_ , or anything. Thankfully, Cal continues without any prompting, a grin that'd curdle milk nearly as quickly as it'd melt some poor sod's heart spreading across Cal's lips. His eyes wrinkle in the corners where the smile pushes at them. "Duh, right? Well..." He flips the paper up, showing Bec an ugly, incomprehensible scribble.

"I thought, just on the off chance you didn't have one -"

"Excuse me?"

"- that I'd make one for you! It's a dog!" 

Bec drowns the urge to immediately question the legitimacy of that statement as he balks at the, uh. Dog in question. If Cal can tell he doesn't buy it, it doesn't show on his face, beaming and squeaking out a laugh at what could only be Bec's expression. In an instant, it hardens right back up under the tittering idiot's scrutiny. 

"I know, it sucks," Cal says, letting the drawing down onto the floor between them. He actually sat at least a foot away from Bec. It's a Christmas miracle. "But I'll find someone who's better at the whole drawing thing, and then I'll show you for real! I think you'll like him a whole lot!"

"Like _who_ , Pinocchio?" Bec jeers, palms perched on his knees and leaning in. Cal, in turn, leans back, ironically unwilling to acquiesce _his_ personal space to Bec. (He's always been so weird about that. Personal space, being touched, and all that crap. Why does Bec feel like he should know why?) "This amalgam of sad shapes and lines?" He indicates limply at the paper. "Please. I'm almost tempted to tell you to go back to drawing us as people, save whatever the hell this is from its perpetual misery. You're actually better at that, somehow."

"It's not that bad."

"Answer the question," Bec drawls.

"Your _fursona_ , dummy," Cal sighs, like it's so obvious. Which, it is. But Bec's not about to admit that, or anything. Without the crummy drawing or a pen to keep themselves busy, Cal's hands find their ways up to his hat, dragging it off his head and letting loose his mess of hair. Bec relaxes back from his gargoyle-esque lean in favor of reluctantly watching him - there's nothing else to look at in the room besides the crappy picture, or God forbid one of Cal's puppets. It's not like Cal being sans a hat is a rare sight, or anything. And even if it was, who cares? All Bec ever hears about Cal's hair is his whinging about how it's _so_ difficult to deal with, it's for convenience that he shoves it under a hat at all. (Please. Does Cal think Bec willingly styles his own hair like this on purpose?) For his part, Cal seems not to notice anyway, his eyes drifting down to his drawing after he sets his hat in his lap and starts plucking at the snaps along the back. "It's supposed to be you, but like. As an animal. I couldn't decide what kind of dog you'd be, so I just drew a mutt..."

"A mutt? Is that how you think of me? Shit, Chewtoy." Bec tries and fails to suppress a snicker when Cal promptly huffs and swipes at him ineffectually, leaning just out of range of the smack.

"I didn't wanna assume too much! I have no idea what breeds you like! I mean, you like Jade, _duh_ , but what kind of dog is she?" 

Oh. For a second time, Bec's brows pinch together and he pauses, actually considering the question. Cal waits, head tilting.

"Got me there," he answers, finally, flicking his hand in a way that he hopes conveys both ' _it's not important_ ', and ' _please continue this inane train of thought_ '. Cal gets the idea, though not without rolling his eyes first. Bec almost warns him not to test him -- it's already a charity he's performing here, listening at all.

"Anyway..." Cal's head lolls back, as though maybe his ceiling has the answers for how to articulate all the ideas he has buzzing around in his noggin. As usual, it doesn't - but it's a heck of a lot easier to stare at than Bec is. He always kicks up a fuss when he catches Cal so much as zoning out in his general direction. (And maybe he wouldn't kick up such a fuss if he didn't catch Cal doing it so _often_ , but then again, maybe not). "A mutt - maybe one of those wolfdogs, with white fur..."

Cal trails off. 

He does that a lot.

... and lately, Bec can't find it in himself to shut Cal down like he used to with brutal ease years ago.

Not now that he has to look him in the face when he does it, see how his bright expression knits up in a noxious concoction of embarrassment and realization and other things Bec's never been able to put words to, but that make his stomach churn with guilt. Cal feels things differently than he does - than a lot of people do. It took Bec _way_ too long to figure that out, in his own personal opinion, but it's not like Cal was ever going to tell him. Not when Bec had spent the better portion of their friendship snapping at him and letting him take away from their conversations that he didn't deserve to be heard or understood, by any of them. (And he still hasn't apologized, yet. He will someday, but. How do you even begin to make up for something like that? - And, just maybe, some part of him's a little scared that Cal won't forgive him, if he tries.) Which, whatever. It's not like it's hard to listen to Cal, or anything. It'd been one of the most thoroughly jarring experiences Bec had stumbled through, meeting Cal in person and finding out _no_ , he doesn't actually shout. At all. In fact, he barely speaks above a whisper, half the time.

" -- ... Bec? Does that sound okay?"

What?

"Yeah, Chewtoy. Sounds great." Scratching his cheek, Bec "tsk"s. Smooth, jackass. "You obviously know more about this crap than I do."

The way Cal laughs cuts straight through the fog of his thoughts, and if he were more of an honest person, Bec might've been grateful. 

"Hey. Why're you bugging me about this, anyway? This whole "fur-sona" thing," Bec needles, tone accusatory but not nearly enough to wipe that bright grin off Cal's face, the clowny idiot stuffing a gloved hand over his mouth to stifle his giggling. Tch. Whatever. His laugh really isn't that bad, either. Just, you know. Why, out of all the things Cal's typed in the span of his internet career, did _that_ turn out to be the one thing that was true to life? Stretching over, Bec delivers a jab right into Cal's shaking side and that finally earns him the smack he'd been vying for earlier, Cal squawking at him.

It's more of a pathetic little pat, really. What a marshmallow. 

"I just thought you'd have fun with it! Since you like animals so much," Cal protests, giving Bec's arm a mighty shove when it dares to loiter near his side again. He stammers over his words a little, choked up with his own laughter. Even Bec's beginning to crack a grin despite himself.

"Well, yeah. But what about you?"

"What about me?" He looks so genuinely surprised that Bec's asking him something. That Bec's showing some modicum of interest in the topic at hand, and engaging him. Boy, had Bec forced that bar lower and lower. Fuck.

"Don't you have a fursona, or whatever?" He's going to regret asking, he just knows it. But he can't swallow back the curiosity finagling its way in, tossing a vague motion over his shoulder towards the small stack of papers Cal had been doodling and scribbling all over earlier. Cal's eyes follow the motion.

"Oh! Haa haa, well... yeah, I do," Cal flounders, and really? He's embarrassed _now_? He stands and makes his way over to the mess of papers to crouch in the proverbial eye of the storm, dropping a hand to push some papers aside and flip a few over, revealing sketches and scrawlings of equal quality to the "dog" earlier. The other arm tucks itself under his legs, hugging them to his chest. Bec watches, though he really can't make heads of tails of any of the drawings. "I don't have any pictures of it yet, though. I'm even worse at drawing rabbits than I am at drawing dogs, somehow, if you can believe it..."

Oh. His fursona's a rabbit? That's. Cute.

Shifting onto his knees, it feels like the least asshole-ish thing he can do to turn himself towards Cal as he trails off again, wedging his legs under himself and reaching for the drawings (which he still can't, for the life of him, tell what half of them are supposed to be) because the way Cal smiles when he does almost doesn't make him feel like jumping out the nearest window.

Ah, fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> oh btw if anyone actually wants to see cal + bec's (and quinn and jaspers') fursonas, [here you go](http://clownmantis.tumblr.com/post/149222922139/some-fursonas-%E3%83%84)


End file.
